


I Have Learned to Manage

by defendedbymypen



Series: History Obliterates (the Hamilton Reincarnation AU No One Wanted) [27]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, But mostly angst, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Herc is Sad, Hurt/Comfort, I don't actually know how to tag I'm very new at this someone help me, Laf is a Sweetheart, Nightmares, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Marquis de Lafayette, Physical Abuse, kind of, ok I think we're good that's all the taggable things, the violence isn't actually that graphic but??? I'm putting the warning anyway, uhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 01:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12495488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defendedbymypen/pseuds/defendedbymypen
Summary: Hercules Murray had never been prone to tears.But right now, this... this was just a little too much.





	I Have Learned to Manage

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!!! Hello!!!!!! I'm new!!!!!!!!!!!!! 
> 
> I have written things for this series??? And the lovely allonsy_gabriel said they like them and I'm going to post them?!?!?! So. Yeah. Hi!!! This one is the first of many!!! 
> 
> so i know historically hugh was herc’s older brother, but for the purposes of this, he’s… not. so. 
> 
> **tw: child abuse**
> 
> anyway, yeah. hello nAUGHTY CHILDREN IT’S A N G ST T I M E 
> 
> (oh, also, this is set in the Past™. as in, still the modern setting, but before Herc and Laf were in college. so. yeah)

Hercules Murray had never been prone to tears.

Some people naturally were, and some people weren’t. It simply was the way it was.

Herc’s younger brother Hugh cried a lot more easily than Hercules did, that was for sure. But then, that probably had a lot to do with the fact that Hercules was the older sibling. It was a lot easier to learn not to cry when you absolutely couldn’t. And Herc, in all of his sixteen years of life, had inherently come to understand that he couldn’t, not in front of Hugh.

Lafayette—another person was also a bit more susceptible to crying. They always had been. They typically cried more often when they got frustrated than when they were sad. Frankly, it wasn’t uncommon for Herc to walk in on them holding back tears over a particularly challenging sudoku puzzle or something of the like. (It was honestly kind of amusing sometimes.)

Hercules, though?

He wasn’t sure he could even properly remember the last time he’d cried. He was an expert at holding back the tears whenever they threatened to spill, at keeping them locked up tight.

But right now, this… this was just a little too much.

Herc’s shoulders shook almost violently as sobs wracked his body. He wasn’t entirely certain where he was right now. All he knew was that it far from his home—really far. He was sitting in an alleyway behind some building, his back pressed against the wall, leaning his head back and just _crying_.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there for.

When his phone rang for the first time, he ignored it, just letting it ring until it went automatically to voicemail. He wasn’t sure he had the energy to move. Too much. It was all just too much.

The phone rang a second time, a second incoming call, and Herc ignored it again.

Then a third time.

Finally mustering up the strength from somewhere, Herc picked up his phone and lifted it with shaking hands to check the caller ID.

 _Oh_.

Swallowing thickly, Hercules moved his finger over the _answer_ button, then hesitated.

Lafayette was obviously worried about him. They wanted to know where he was. By ignoring the call, Laf’s worry would only grow, and knowing them, they would probably jump to conclusions and imagine all sorts of horrible things that could have happened.

But on the other hand, if Herc _did_ answer, if Herc spoke to Laf with a voice that was strangled and choked with tears, that would decidedly make things worse. Because Laf wouldn’t let that slide by unnoticed. Because Hercules Murray _never cried_.

Because the last time Hercules Murray had cried was probably at his dad’s funeral. Because if Hercules was crying now, Lafayette would know something was very, very wrong, and that was not what Hercules wanted.

Because he couldn’t let anyone find out about this.

So he stayed sitting right there, staring up at the dazzling blue, too-bright sky, tears leaking out of his eyes and rolling down his face, letting his phone ring and ring until it didn’t anymore, and waiting until the ferocious storm of emotions subsided into something calmer, something more manageable. He didn’t bother pushing away the thoughts that he typically pushed away, didn’t bother trying not to think about the bruises up and down his arms and his chest, bruises that _should not have been there_. He didn’t bother trying not to think about his slipping grades and the job he’d just lost.

He just stopped trying, period, just for a little bit, because he was just a little too exhausted. He cried.

And eventually, everything did subside. Eventually, there was quiet.

Hercules Murray’s phone rang a fourth time.

With hands that no longer trembled quite as much, he picked up the call.

_“Herc! Mon dieu, where have you been? J'étais si inquiet! Are you okay? Why weren’t you picking up your phone? You can’t just do that to me! We were supposed to meet at the coffee shop thirty minutes ago, and your mom said you weren’t home, and—”_

“I’m sorry, Marie, I’m sorry… I forgot. I was just out for a walk. I’ll be there soon if you want to wait…” It wasn’t easy keeping his voice under control, but he managed.

_“Just out for a walk…? Hercules, are you alright?”_

“I’m okay,” Herc insisted. “Really. The weather’s nice, and I just… lost track of time. I’m sorry.”

“ _D’accord_ ,” Lafayette conceded, though he still sounded upset. “ _But really, mon cher, don’t do that again, please! I was afraid when I couldn’t get ahold of you, afraid something terrible had happened…_ ”

“Don’t worry, Marie,” Hercules said, trying to sound as ‘okay’ as he possibly could. “I’m fine. Promise.”

.

.

.

He wasn’t fine.

In all honesty, Hercules wasn’t entirely certain what had triggered the breakdown. The abuse had been going on for a good six months at this point, and not once had he cried up until now.

Maybe it was just a combination of everything. All of the pain, how he’d been struggling with his grades, the fact that he’d lost his job… it had all come together and the dam had cracked and cracked under the stress until it gave way completely. Maybe he’d just needed to let it all out.

A few days passed.

Hercules found that he was still having trouble holding it together. After he’d cried, he’d figured that he really would be fine. That he’d released all the pressure, and that he could hold himself together for now.

Obviously, that was not the case.

Maybe, a little part of him thought as he found himself coming close to tears yet again one night, he couldn’t handle all of this on his own after all. Maybe this really was too much for a high school junior to be dealing with alone.

Not that it mattered whether he _could_ deal with it alone or not, he reminded himself. The situation wasn’t going to change. He knew that his mom couldn’t break up with her boyfriend, because he was the one bringing in the money, the one supporting them. Herc’s mom had a job, too, but it wasn’t nearly enough all on its own. They _needed_ the money—now more than ever, especially since Hercules had lost his job.

That was why it didn’t matter how badly the bruises hurt. It didn’t matter how much pain Herc was in on a daily basis, or how much it terrified him to be slammed up against a wall and punched until he could hardly breathe.

None of that mattered. _None_ of it did.

Because he couldn’t say a word.

As long as Herc was the only one being hurt—as long as that man didn’t touch his mom or Hugh—he then he could take it. He had to take it.

Even on a night like this.

The words sliced into him, letting him know exactly what was coming. Before he even felt the pain, before he saw the fist coming at him the first time, he knew.

“You little shit.”

Herc closed his eyes, trying not to gasp out in pain as he was punched in the stomach.

“You think you can get away with disrespectin’ me like that? Huh? You think so, brat?”

Another couple of punches hit him in the chest, and he flinched back. Hating himself for being so weak. For not being able to take it without flinching.

“Well, you can’t. You can’t get away with it, not without facing the consequences. _Maybe this’ll teach you a little respect!_ ”

He kept his eyes closed, trying not to focus on the next onslaught of blows, trying not to let himself think about how much it fucking _hurt_. Trying to imagine that he was somewhere else. Somewhere… somewhere with Lafayette, preferably…

Herc latched on to the thought. Thinking about Laf—that made it easier to distract himself. Lafayette, who’d never hurt him in a million years. Lafayette, whom he loved almost to the point of desperation.

 _Wait_ . _Loved?_

That thought briefly confused him, though he was too dizzy with pain to really think about it. He felt his back hit the wall behind him, a hand coming down and leaving his face stinging painfully. _Don’t think about it don’t think about don’tthinkaboutit_ —

“I provide for everything you have, you know. Everything. Everything you’ve got, everything in this house, it’s all because of me! I could take it all away, and it’d be your fault—you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

It hurt, _god_ it hurt.

But the words were almost worse. Because the words were what he would replay in his head for years to come, his mind spitting the same insults back at him over and over and over…

“You’re lucky I care about you, or I’d just leave. Maybe I _should_ leave.”

 _All his fault, this was all his fault_ … Herc let out a choked gasp at a particularly hard kick to the stomach.

“Maybe then you’d learn to respect your father.”

And that was where he snapped.

“You’re _not_ my father,” Hercules growled furiously. Because Herc’s father was dead, and _no one_ got to dishonor him like that. Because if Herc’s father _hadn’t_ been dead, this would never be happening.

“Say that one more time, _I dare you,_ ” was the snarled response, punctuated by another, fiercer blow, and _shit_ , Hercules should have just kept his mouth shut.

.

.

.

Then one day, Lafayette spotted him undressing, and all of that—all of the hiding, taking the pain—it all changed in an instant.

He’d stayed over at Laf’s house the night before, which was something that happened often. _Very_ often, in fact—Lafayette’s mom often joked that Herc might as well just move in with them. It had been a pretty normal night. They’d stayed up late talking about anything and everything, from school to sports to the crucial difference between fuchsia and magenta when deciding an outfit.

Now Herc was in the bathroom changing out of his pyjamas. And he’d forgotten to shut the door.

“Hercules…?”

Lafayette’s voice had an unusually frightened quality to it, a slight tremor. Startled, Hercules whirled around. _Shit_.

Laf was standing in the hallway.

This was bad. This was very bad. He’d fully intended to keep this a secret for as long as he needed to—forever if he had to—because Laf couldn’t know, they _couldn’t_ know. And now he was shirtless and standing face to face with a scared and bewildered Lafayette who could very clearly see the myriad of bruises across his body.

Needless to say, it didn’t look good.

“Hercules, why… why are there bruises?” Laf whispered, their eyes wide with horror, their voice impossibly soft and edged with concern.

Hercules opened his mouth to try and give some kind of bullshit excuse—he got into a fight, he fell down the stairs, _something_ —but he couldn’t bring himself to form the words. He didn’t want to lie to Lafayette, but this… he couldn’t tell them about this. _Shit shit shit_.

“It’s… it’s nothing, Marie,” he tried, quickly grabbing his shirt and pulling it on, his heart pumping faster. “Really. It’s nothing, I swear. Don’t—don’t worry about it.”

“It is _not_ nothing,” Laf insisted, their tone bordering on frantic now. “You’re- you’re covered in- Hercules, what…?”

He looked away. “Laf…”

“Hercules.”

There was a long pause, and Herc’s breathing began to get faster.

“Tell me,” Laf said, almost pleading now.

Herc bowed his head, his hands clenching into fists. “I—it’s nothing, h-he—” He tried to speak, but his voice caught, and he felt his face heat up and tears prickle in his eyes. Fuck, now was _not_ the time to be crying. “He…”

Lafayette stepped forward and reached out to touch Herc’s arm, gently, carefully avoiding any bruises. If it had been anyone else touching him, he would have flinched back, but for some reason when it was Laf he didn’t.

“Who?” was all they said.

Herc swallowed, his throat tight.

 

_Maybe…_

Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to keep this a secret after all. Maybe it wasn’t his fault. Maybe, in the end, he was just a sixteen-year-old kid who shouldn’t be dealing with this shit, and maybe he didn’t deserve to be carrying this all by himself.

Maybe he was just exhausted and maybe it was finally time to tell someone.

“My—my mom’s boyfriend,” he mumbled finally, still refusing to meet Laf’s eyes.

Laf’s voice broke as they murmured, “Oh, mon cher…”

They stepped closer, and there were tears glistening unshed in their eyes, and so much love there— _so much_ love, it was almost overwhelming. A split second passed before Herc realized that all of that love in Laf’s eyes was for _him._

Because he'd forgotten, for a moment, that there was real, honest, genuine _love_ in the world, that came not in the form of fists flying at him to teach him a lesson, but in the form of gentle words and affectionate touches and Laf’s adorable laughter.

That simple thought was all it took for Hercules to break down crying for the second time in less than a week.

The difference was that, this time, he had someone there to catch him.

.

.

.

Years later, he still remembered how badly it _hurt_.

He still remembered the fear, the flash of utter terror that rose like bile in his throat every time he knew he’d messed up, because he knew _exactly_ what would happen to him every time he did, because he couldn’t escape the pain no matter how hard he tried.

He still remembered the time his mom’s boyfriend had decided punches and kicks weren’t enough and gotten out a motherfucking _belt_ , because that made sense, because of course, it was _perfectly fucking justifiable_ to hit a sixteen-year-old kid with a belt, because it was perfectly okay in his fucked-up mind to beat Herc until he nearly _passed out_ from the pain.

The details were fuzzy, sure, after all this time— but the fear—the _pain_ —oh god, he remembered _that_ with perfect clarity.

The memories were burned into his brain, and years later, as a fully-grown college student— _who should’ve gotten over all of this already_ , a part of his brain thought nastily—he still relived them at night, still woke up gasping and sweating. Sometimes he woke up screaming.

But Laf was always there.

Always, always there.

“Mon cher, je suis là. I’m here,” they said now, one arm wrapped around Herc’s shoulders as he trembled, trying and failing to shake off the effects of the nightmare. He didn’t get them nearly as often anymore, and when he did, they usually weren’t this bad.

They usually weren’t bad enough to make the ever-stoic Hercules Murray dissolve into broken sobs.

And yet here he was.

Crying.

“Shh… Hercules, mon amour, you’re here, I’m here, you’re safe,” Lafayette murmured, running a hand through Herc’s hair. “You have nothing to be afraid of. He will never touch you again.”

Herc nodded shakily, though the tears were still coming. “I—I’m sorry, Marie…”

“Non,” they reproached softly. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

His throat tight, trying to push back the tears and failing miserably, Hercules nodded again.

It had been so long, and still… still, there were some nights, nights just like these when he just couldn’t quite keep it together.

But Laf was still there.

Always, always, _always_ there.

And maybe—maybe it was okay to let himself cry, to let himself break down, to let it all go once more. Maybe it was okay to fall apart, to allow the dam to break again.

After all, he had been holding it together for a long, long time now.

**Author's Note:**

> hhhhh thank you so much for reading this and I would love to hear what you guys think about it??? 
> 
> ok, I'll see you guys next time I post a thing!!! byyyeee!!


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